


In Sickness, In Health

by baethoven



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27576100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baethoven/pseuds/baethoven
Summary: James visits Francis during his withdrawal.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 16
Kudos: 56
Collections: Fall Fitzier Exchange





	In Sickness, In Health

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheGreenMeridian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenMeridian/gifts).



The duties of a captain are many and varied; they plague one from the moment they awake til the very last moments before one closes their eyes for sleep. James has poured himself into the work, because it is expected of his rank, because it is direly needed, but mostly, because he is a coward.

He has long known this about himself, has felt it tainted on him since infancy. There's nothing more cowardly than siring a bastard and then leaving it for distant relatives to raise. Sometimes James wonders what would have become of him had he been left with his mother, whoever she was. He imagines he has her dark locks and pronounced features; his mouth is not a set of rosebuds, nor his face the sloping planes of genteel birth.

He carries his cowardice well, on strong shoulders and bold deeds. He has always poured himself into every task, and naval life is awash with tasks. Even at such a rank, there are men to see, measurements to take, orders to dole out. And while his lower ranking officers have reminded him frequently that tasks can be delegated, James's cowardice has not allowed such liberties.

That is why James finds himself outside the Captain's quarters on _Terror,_ lingering and listening to the soft sounds of sickness and misery on the other side of the door. Most evenings he's too preoccupied with the grinding work of survival to make the trek across the ice. But his lieutenants have softly needled him, implying through layers of deference that this is one task that James has neglected. There's nothing in the naval code that explicitly states one must see their Captain through their alcohol induced sickness; Jopson is perfectly capable of such work. But Edward Little had looked to James with is wretchedly sad eyes and had implored him to lend some of his strength to the Captain.

James can't hear much beyond Crozier's labored breathing and the soft rustle of bedclothes. He does not know if Jopson is there beside their Captain, or if he has taken a much needed respite. James knows Crozier is in pain, has received reports from his lieutenants that he has suffered through seizures and shakes, has been sick in all manners, and that his lucidity is fleeting. They do not know if Crozier will even survive this ordeal, where in the best of circumstances stronger men have failed; who knows what the frigid air and exhaustion of the last few months will do to their Captain's spirit. James feels, for a fleeting moment, anger and rage at Crozier; that he could not control is vices, that when he was so direly needed, he shut himself away with his drink and melancholy. He's left James to keep their company afloat, abandoned them all to doom.

And just as quickly as the rage came, it is gone. James sags against the door, presses his cheek to the grain. He thinks of Sir John, how he disregarded every one of Crozier's warnings; James had disregarded them too, let Crozier's temperament prejudice him to the very real danger. _I would have drank too,_ a soft part of James thinks, _had no one listened to me._

James hears the shuffle of midshipmen exchanging watches, and knows he cannot be found lingering with his cheek pressed against the Captain's door. James exchange's one cowardice for another, and let himself into the room.

Jopson is nowhere to be found, which James is grateful for. Crozier is asleep in the corner, his skin sallow and pale, covered in a sheen of sweat. He shakes in the cold, it's searching tendrils finding it's way deep into the hull. James watches him shiver and toss his head, his brow furrowed and lips set in a pained grimace. Beside his cot is a stool and a rag; Jopson's post, James assumes. 

James thinks of leaving- the stench of sick is strong and it feels betraying to witness their Captain in such a state- but Crozier whimpers and James finds he cannot leave. Despite the screaming fears in the back of his head, the constant litany of _failure, fraud, coward,_ James is compelled forward. He has always wanted Crozier's friendship, even now after the naked derision, the biting exchanges, and yes, even after being allowed to sail into Disko Bay, James still craves comradery. He wants a brother, or a friend; James does not have the word for it yet, only that he wants it desperately. To be seen and approved by another like himself; marked by the shame of their circumstances, and risen despite it. James sits beside Crozier, takes the rag in hand, and pours himself into the task.

He blots Crozier's brow, wipes away the sweat on his cheek. He listens to Crozier's labored breathing and tries to parse out the few stray words that pass his lips. Some time passes, and the Captain's fits subside; he slips into a deeper slumber, his breathing even and absent of the rattling Little had worriedly reported to him.

Ever the coward, James finds boldness in the closeness, in the silence of his Captain. He rests a hand on Crozier's forehead to feel his temperature, but leaves it there when Crozier makes no indication of noticing. Minutes pass, and when no one arrives to interrupt him, James lets his thumb caress the lines on Crozier's face. Once a task is started, James cannot abandon it; soon he has Crozier's cheek in the palm of his hand.

"You've made your lieutenants very worried," James starts, the words coming from him without a thought. "They come to me every night and worry at me. Not very becoming of a Captain."

James imagines how this would sting Crozier, pictures the angry curl of his lip and quickly moves forward. "You've worried me too. I'm sure you're very aware, but I am not nearly as smart as you, and the men don't love me like they do you."

That may be a stretch- there are indeed men on this expedition that despise their Captain, scheme against him in dark corners, but his lieutenants love him, are fiercely protective of his decency. James is not sure he could say the same of his own men. How can you love a man you do not know?

James is too preoccupied with his own loathing to notice the change of Crozier's breathing, the sudden rigidity of one doing their best to stay still. He strokes Crozier's cheek, holds him gently, and thinks he is speaking to an unconscious man.

"Please be well," James pleads. "We will be lost without you- me most of all." 

James does not know his words have been heard, taken to heart like an oath. He does not know that the man beneath him can only muster the strength to mutter two quiet syllables. When Crozier murmurs "Fitzjames," it is a promise. James hears it as the mumblings of sleep. He holds Crozier's cheek and soothes him to rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is a very modest piece, but I'm glad I could put out something during this bizarre time.


End file.
